


The Open Wounds of Gods

by PsychedelicBumblebee



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anger, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Bruce refers to Hulk as the Big Guy, Fever, Fever Dreams, Fix-It, Grudges, Medical Doctor Bruce Banner, Nightmares, Odin's Asgardian spell on Loki dispels when Loki's sick?, Oops, Other, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump, kind of, lots of anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25246156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychedelicBumblebee/pseuds/PsychedelicBumblebee
Summary: Loki couldn't bring himself to care as much as he felt ought have. In fact, he was grateful; at least if he was going to die, he would be unconscious for some of it.
Relationships: Loki & Thor
Comments: 11
Kudos: 57





	1. Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ramifications](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14307795) by [Mjazilem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mjazilem/pseuds/Mjazilem). 



> A little fix-it fic I created after reading the beautiful Ramifications by M J Azilem. Definitely go read that before or after my version, as I can pretty much guarantee that their story is the better version. Feedback, however, is still much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!

He grunted as he pulled himself over the marble floor of the wretched tower, arms shaking madly from the effort. Shattered glass from the previously floor-to-ceiling windows cut into his palms, making his hands sticky with blood as he raced in vain to Tesseract.

Hot pain coursed through his body and the muscles in his arms burned fiercely, but he brushed it aside. He didn't have time to tend to his meagre wounds; he needed to get the Tesseract back into his possession, before the ridiculous Avengers could destroy it.

Had the penthouse grown in size since the Hulk had slammed him a hole into the floor?

So he allowed himself a moment to rest, so that he might catch his breath and scrape together all the strength he could muster from his worn essence. His muscles went slack, then taut again, and his abdomen ached painfully as he forced his feet flat on the floor. But as soon as his armored legs straightened, his left leg became suddenly aware of its broken bone and pain shot up, his knees buckling instantly.

He hit the floor with a undignified _thump!,_ drawing more blood from his lip as he stifled a cry. He settled instead for a pained groan, coughing weakly to get his breath back. Lying on the shining, once lavish floor of Stark Tower for what seemed like an eternity, he waited for the pain to cease enough that he might move. It nearly had, until his mind was assaulted with a pain akin to several bullets to his skull, and Loki knew suddenly the Chitauri had been defeated.

The psychic connection to the Other violently severed, Loki was left fearful, weak, and in further agony. He let out a strangled cry, lacking the energy to clutch his head in an effort to lessen the pain.

The Other had lost; _he_ had lost, ultimately. He knew what was coming now, what his enemies would do to him now that he'd failed his mission and smashed his promise of a world in which the Chitauri would have free rein. The Avengers would want to get him off-world and back to Asgard, where the All-Father would punish him the way he saw fit.

And the Other- oh, _the_ _Other._

The Other would make Loki pay his debt, but not before getting their own pound of flesh, just for their personal amusement. Then he would be dragged, defenseless and torn, to Thanos, and _then_ he would pay his debts, in accordance to the direct orders of Thanos.

All that mattered was who got to him first.

He choked on the rising heat of bile in his throat, panic coiling in the pit of his derelict stomach.

If Loki dared to look on the bright side, and if there was indeed anything to look at: he didn't feel quite so heavy and clumsy, his vision was clearer, and his thoughts weren't much more jumbled than usual. His admittedly unnerving amount of loathing toward his brother had drained to a dull frustration about the shadow he had become in Asgard over the few thirteen hundred or so years of his life.

But the agony and the wounds from all the battles in this. . . _war,_ left Loki decrepit, battered, exhausted, and above all, war-weary. Not to mention what he'd already accumulated from-

He shook his head to clear it, chasing off the memory of that bloodthirsty place.

If he was to be punished so harshly, he wanted at least to attempt escape. He tried once more to push the agony to the back of his mind. He succeeded enough that he could continue to drag himself toward the Tesseract, only now every inch of him screamed in agony, hot stabs of pain pulsating through him with each pull of his body. He almost wished for the psychic connection again, because at least it had dulled the pain to a tolerable degree.

He had only gotten as far as the steps leading up to the balcony, breathing heavily in exertion, before the unmistakable huff of the green beast rustled behind him. Loki turned, barely smothering a flinch when his broken ribs grated again each other and his heart sped up in fear. He looked up with an expression full of spite and eyes full of pleading, gulping down another threat of nausea.

Looking at each Avenger in turn, Loki brought up Stark's earlier offer of a drink, if it was all the same to the Man of Iron. The beast huffed with what Loki might have described as annoyance, had it been anyone else. Stark, simple for once, merely rolled his eyes.

Loki turned his head quickly, averting his eyes when a flinch forced its way onto his features. He could hear his name on Thor's lips, but whether it was more a question than a threat, the black spots dancing behind his eyelids made it hard for him to be certain.

His sight was failing, he realized, because he was losing the ability to breathe correctly. He couldn't bring himself to care as much as he felt ought have. In fact, he was grateful; at least if he was going to die, he would be unconscious for some of it. Thor called his name once again, somehow persistent, and this time Loki gave him an answer gave him answer consisting of a groan and wheezing gasps as his lungs refused him oxygen.

His throat swelled up, his heart pounding against his damaged ribs and his body seizing until he was nearly doubled over in his own lap. His eyes snapped open, and suddenly his vision returned as his body panicked. His arms gave out, leaving his face to smack onto the milky floor with a sickening crunch to his jaw. As he struggled to draw a breath, he was forced to resort to hacking as hot agony shot up his chest, eliciting a strangled gasp from his lips.

Before long he was lying on the hard floor, choking and unable to move so he could breathe properly. His hand gripped the floor weakly in a attempt to show his urgency, though he refused to admit to himself that was indeed his intent.

He cried out again, droplets of blood staining the pristine floor and leaving him with flaming lungs and a pounding head. Then he was being pulled up by strong, gentle arms and his ribs mercifully halted its grinding. He could breathe- at last- deeply and greedily, grateful for the fresh air.

It made him dizzy, the sudden availability of air; his eyelids were suddenly lead, even as he fought for consciousness. An abrupt ringing in his ears muted his hearing, and the world went silent. There was a muffled shout of: "Don't let him fall asleep!"

Someone shook him violently, drawing a groan from his split lips. White noise surrounded him, and he knew nothing.


	2. Unprecedented Information

When at first Loki woke, he could hear nothing, save for his own breathing and a consistent ringing in his ears. He swallowed down his rising nausea, aggravating the beginnings of a coughing fit. He felt different, somehow, but he couldn't quite place _how_. He supposed, after painfully gathering his thoughts, that he felt cleaner, more put together.

"Hey, guys, I think he's finally awake," a smug voice commented, cutting through the white noise that had been a poor substitute in place of his senses. A hand rested on his shoulder, and immediately he stiffened, flinching away from the foreign gesture as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Loki," Thor's voice wasn't loud, but the low rumble of it resonated throughout Loki's bones. "It is only me. Can you open your eyes?"

Loki did as he was told, for once, for the sake of feeling a deeper exhaustion than he already did. Deep green eyes cracked open, and his vision slowly swam into focus. He was in a bed in one of Stark Tower's infirmaries, he realized. Wondrous: the last thing Loki needed was to lack the position to decline charity from the very individuals who wished to be rid of him. But (he tried to shove the complementing thoughts back down) it had been too long since he had last slept peacefully, too long since he had been so without pain, and he was tempted to relax despite everything rummaging about in his dazed mind.

With an irritated bitterness (for it appeared he could do nothing against it) he noticed that they had stripped of him of his armour as well, in order to reach a great portion of his many wounds. This quickly dashed the temptation to accept his disposition and bask in its results, and he forced himself to sit up, grunting with the effort.

Thor stood at his side, a hand hovering before Loki as if he might have to catch him at any given moment. Doctor Banner stood beside Thor, arms crossed and expression an interesting mix of focus, confusion, curiosity, and some form of guilt.

On Loki's other flank, Captain Rogers gazed at him, evidently torn between concern, anger, and sympathy. Stark stood next to the Captain, smiling smugly, like a kid on Halloween who'd just stolen the other kids' candy. He was intrigued, but Loki could not quite understand why.

Opposite the bed, leaning against the far wall, were Agents Romanoff and Barton, shoulder to shoulder. They didn't bother to hide their anger and the extent to which it reached, and if looks could kill, Loki would have been dead long ago (ironically, he mused). He was unsure as to why they were angry with him, besides the obvious reasons of trying to take over their home planet. He brushed that aside to be dealt with later, and concentrated on sitting up.

Years of torture and a multitude of injuries over those years had taught him to be cautious. He drew a deep breath (albeit shaky), carefully pushing himself up until he was sitting on one edge of the cot. His arms wobbled precariously, but he slid his legs- one was encased in a cast- over the side of the bed, planting his feet and attempting to stand with both hands braced on the bed railing.

Immediately, his side throbbed, and a hand flew to it, cradling; his heart sped up at the same time his vision escaped him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Banner warned as Loki braced himself to stand, just as soon the dark spots disappeared. He ignored the good doctor, stiffening his arms before pushing off the bed with weak hands, allowing at last for his long legs to take the brunt of his small weight.

It backfired instantly.

His knees buckled as the room spun, and he felt Thor catch him before he could make good friends with the hard floor a second time that day. He bit back a cry when the sudden stretch from hanging limp in his brother's grip probed at his healing ribs.

"Thanos is-" Loki said without thinking (was he truly so worn that he couldn't watch his words as carefully as he ordinarily took such care to do?); his voice was strangled and choked, as if a yelp of pain was not alone in its place on the tip of his tongue. He had to breathe strangely to compensate for the flooding agony, "The scepter- destroy it. It will bring only- chaos and desolation- in its wake."

"We already have,"Banner informed him. "And how do we know the scepter had the same effect on you as Clint?" Tony gave him a strange look. "He could very well be lying to create a scapegoat for his actions," he explained with a half-hearted shrug.

Loki almost didn't hear him, letting out an almost inaudible breath of relief when Thor lifted him up and into his arms, "My brother uses ancient sorcery for his deceptions; the victim sees what Loki wishes them to."

Loki swallowed the unwelcome lump of guilt in his throat, seething as he scowled at Banner, "If you must know, I _have_ no magic left, not even. . ." He trailed off, cursing himself again for loosing his tongue. "I would have healed myself already."

"I see. And why not? What's happened to your. . . magic?" Bruce didn't hesitate to allow some scientist to bleed through; Tony and him had always agreed that magic was just science they didn't understand, and now, if they paid enough attention, they could. He didn't get the answer he wanted.

"Thanos." Loki replied simply. Everyone exchanged glances, looking for answers and leaving empty-handed still. Loki squeezed his eyes shut and breathed in deeply, then released it slowly, as if trying to keep his patience as he addressed a small child.

"Did you not wield the wretched thing yourself, doctor?" Loki went on, ire clear in his face and in his tone. "Did you not feel its dark power? Surely you must have sensed some portion of the truth: it is not merely a sceptre; it is a ruthless, unstoppable weapon."

The physicist blanched, "How did you-?"

"Even as we speak, Thanos is coming to destroy all that you love and could think to hold dear," Loki went on as if Banner hadn't spoken, his voice filled with a curious resentment. "Even your. . . _team_ cannot aspire to hinder his advancements. He shall destroy Midgard, and all the other realms, and he will never rest until he believes a sufficient amount of population has been slaughtered. No one will be able to stop him. Especially not _mortals_ such as yourselves."

A puzzled, rather stunned silence filled the room for several moments.

"For Odin's sake, Brother, _let me down,"_ Loki protested at last, and if it had been anyone else, Bruce would have said he had whined the command.

"No," Thor replied simply, gracing him with no further explanation. Loki snarled in annoyance, struggling in the strong hold until a rib jabbed at him. This time, a cry could not be hindered from his lips, and his body slumped on its own accord as his limbs pooled with lethargy. He cursed himself for his own weakness, growling in disgust at his lack of competent pain tolerance and Thor's insistence.

Why was Thor so determined to keep him alive? Loki could make no sense of it, thinking back to all that had transpired in the Battle of New York and what Thor had said only recently, that he would no longer hesitate to kill Loki if he double-crossed him. Loki had taken that to heart, as much as he hated himself for it. From then on, he expected a painful death from Thor if he ever crossed the line drawn in Asgardian sand and sea. But Thor appeared to be pushing that line ever farther, though Loki could never figure out _why,_ if Thor had meant his word.

"Loki," Thor's voice, concerned and a little fearful, snapped Loki from his reverie. He forced his eyes open (though when they had slipped shut he knew not) and glowered tiredly up at his brother.

"May I take my leave to Asgard now? Or have you more pointless interrogation?" He spat, rubbing his hands over his face in another attempt at patience.

Thor peered down at Loki, surprised at Loki's curious aura of anger and exhaustion. He frowned, looking to Doctor Banner.

Bruce caught his eye, and studied his patient for several moments, instinctively listing the injuries and remedies and time of recovery off in his head. "No," he replied at last, the epitome of calm and stern.

A noise of protest rose from the Trickster, but he cut him off. "Loki," he began, using the tone he often used when Tony wanted to experiment on the Big Guy. "You need to rest. Your injuries will never heal if you insist on being up and about, much less traveling back to Asgard with Thor." He shook his head, sighing with infinite patience, "No, it's much too dangerous."

Loki let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl, "I have survived _far worse_ than these _trivial wounds_. I cannot stay; I must get off this planet. Before Thanos-"

The Captain spoke up suddenly, angry, "Your injuries are anything _but_ trivial. Your body took a huge toll from the Battle. Listen to Banner. Please."

The two soldiers stared at one another, daring the other to speak until the tension was almost pungent. Loki broke the silence with acid on his tongue, "And how, exactly, _Captain,_ do you expect to stop a being more powerful than Thor and your _Beast_ " (Banner flinched here) " _combined_ from wreaking havoc and laying waste to your precious Earth?"

Steve crossed his arms resolutely, "We'll figure something out. Of that, I'm sure."

Loki shook his head bitterly, swallowing around another lump in his throat, "Mere faith cannot save you this time, Captain."

"Faith," Rogers said firmly, "will always save us."

Loki sighed heavily. He was too getting to drained to argue, and the annoying probing at sides was beginning to be painful. For several moments, he studied Rogers, dulling green eyes all at once intense, curious, and angry. It was so direct, compared to all the confusion and chaos, that Steve couldn't but flush a little in embarrassment under the scrutinizing gaze.

"Very well," he said slowly, relaxing in his brother's arms as his eyes drooped and his words began to slur a little, "But as soon as I am able, I wish to return to Asgard with Thor."

"Loki, Father has not been informed of your doings," Thor put in carefully. "I imagine he shall found out soon in any case, but it is better later than right now when all that has been done to Midgard is still raw and aching."

Loki startled, barely able to lift his head again to look at his brother, "You- what- why. . . why did not tell-? But Heimdall-?" He couldn't seem to string words together, and his gradually increasing exhaustion wasn't doing him any favours.

He was grateful Thor understand him, nevertheless, "Heimdall is. . . indebted to me. I convinced him to conceal you whilst we attempt to sort out our dilemma."

"How-" Loki didn't trust his voice to work now, as it already felt weak and brittle as ice. How ironic.

"Seems like his tongue finally lost its silver," Barton chuckled darkly, twirling an arrow in his skilled fingers.

He tried to ignore the archer, and the fact that his vision was nearly pitch dark again helped. "Father- will not. . . be. . ." The rest slipped into oblivion even as he tried to force himself awake. He heard Thor rumble a question above him, but he drifted off before he could try to comprehend it.


	3. Coffee Would Definitely Help

He could see himself, kneeling there, in his own blood and filth and sweat, struggling desperately against the arms that gripped him. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, but his face denied them: eyes narrowed, where a dying fire resided. His hair was messy and falling over his shoulders in greased clumps before his eyes.

He screamed hoarsely- a battle cry if he could afford to spare enough time to consider such things- as he was yanked back down. It didn't make any difference, anyway, for he was certain his legs could no longer hold him, even if he managed to keep the monsters at bay long enough to stand. Blood was running down his temples in torrents, thick and dark as it dripped from his lashes. He was losing strength, and fast.

It terrified him.

"Why does he still fight?" a deep voice commanded, coloured with disappointment. Loki's chin was forced up as his knees were forced down, that maleficent face studying him and all Loki could do was breathe harshly, lungs burning and spirit aflame.

Thanos pulled at his shoulder harshly. Loki screamed as it was dislocated gleefully. Another injury to add to the list, and _gods of ancient realms,_ the white pain he was feeling was going to make him pass out any second.

He growled and spit in the the Titan's face.

Thanos only smirked at the trickster's persistence, continuing as if he wasn't searching Loki's dulling green eyes for submission, "He must break."

With that, Loki dragged, crying and growling and gasping, back into the darkness, where further chiseling awaited.

XXX

"Doctor Banner."

Jarvis chimed pleasantly in Bruce's room, drawing him from his book. He looked up at the ceiling instinctively, brow furrowed, "Yes, Jarvis?"

"Loki's heart-rate and temperature appear to have risen steadily within the last 103 minutes. I suggest you pay him a visit."

Bruce was up and moving before Jarvis had finished, and now he waited for the elevator doors to open as he inquired as to where Thor was.

"In the infirmary as well, sir. He seems distressed."

"Alright," was Bruce's elaborate reply. He groaned, dragging his hands down his face tiredly, realizing how little sleep he'd gotten. He'd hoped that perhaps the book would lull him, but. . . "What time is it?"

"Two thirty-three in the morning, Doctor Banner. Would you like me to wake Sir?"

Bruce considered this a moment. It wasn't anything concerning Tony, and the man needed his sleep in any case. They were lucky he was actually in bed without anyone having to knock him out and drag him there. That had happened once, courtesy of a very fed-up Steve, Bruce recalled with a smirk.

He shook his head, then remembered Jarvis couldn't see him (or could he? He honestly didn't know), "No, Jarvis, that's alright. Just make sure Tony stays in his room, will you? Just at least until, like, six? I _really_ don't want him to collapse in the lap again."

"Very good, sir," Jarvis agreed, and Bruce swore that the AI would be smiling if he could.

Bruce chuckled, walking at last down the hall leading to the infirmary, "You're welcome, Jarvis."

When he entered, Thor was curled around Loki as the trickster tried in vain to calm himself. His breaths were coming in shaky gasps, fingers clawing at the sheets and tears streaming reluctantly down his cheeks. Strangled cries escaped his lips, fading and weak.

Thor had covered his brother's eyes with one hand, the other arm wrapping assuredly across his stomach. Bruce wasn't sure what shielding Loki's eyes would do, but he suspected it might have something to do with separating reality from nightmares. Thor was muttering everything about nothing in Loki's ear, trying to comfort in any way he could.

Bruce strode toward them quickly, his mere doctor's experience returning to him. He pressed two fingers to against the pulse point on Loki's neck. He frowned: one-hundred-eighty BPM. Not good. He checked the trickster's forehead, where the skin burned a little against his own. Not a high fever, but considering Loki's physiology, more than likely it actually was.

The fact that Loki didn't snap at him or even try to yank away from Thor was concerning to say in the least. He must have been truly terrified, not to mention exhausted.

It took some time, but Loki managed to come down enough to fall asleep again. When Thor was sure he was out, he removed his hand, pulling Loki closer.

He looked up at Banner, eyes watering and distressed, "I apologize for summoning you where you were not needed, doctor."

Bruce waved a hand dismissively, smiling reassuringly, "It's alright, Thor. I couldn't sleep anyway."

Thor nodded in understanding, strangely quiet. He glanced down at his sleeping brother, who looked more peaceful than Bruce could've imagined someone like him could ever be. Thor sighed wearily, tracing a thumb nostalgically over Loki's damp cheek with something akin to nostalgia, "He has been having night terrors more frequently, and refuses to confide in me of them. I am. . . worried these dreams will never cease to haunt him."

Bruce fell unceremoniously into a nearby chair, propping his feet up on the end table beside it. It made for an awkward position, but he was too tired to really care, "Tony never tells me about his nightmares, and it only hurts him. He doesn't want to hurt what little pride he has left, I think. It frustrates me." He sighed, letting his head fall back against the arm of the chair as his eyes slipped shut, "What are we going to do with them?"

A rare silence settled, until Bruce sighed again, snapping out of his thoughts, "Jarvis, what's Loki's current temperature?"

"100.8 degrees Fahrenheit, Doctor Banner."

Bruce wasn't sure how bad that potentially was, but from the way Thor's breath hitched worriedly, he could make an educated guess. He shot up, ignoring the nervous lump in his throat and wordlessly berating himself for his sluggishness.

He felt Loki's forehead again, the flesh boiling and flaking beneath the tips of his fingers now.

He scowled, trying to keep his voice steady, "Jarvis what was Loki's temp on the Tricarrier?"

"95.7 degrees Fahrenheit."

Bruce swallowed the lump, "We need to lower it, and we need to do it quickly. Jarvis, can you isolate the temperature in any given room?"

"Of course, Doctor Banner," the AI answered, not missing a beat. "What would you like me to do?"

"Please lower the temp in only this room to fifty degrees Fahrenheit."

"Of course, sir," Jarvis repeated. Instantly, the room began to cool, eliciting a shiver from its occupants, even as it continued to go down.

Bruce turned to Thor, gesturing vaguely at Loki, in all his bandaged-littered glory. "Just let him recuperate; don't worry if he isn't lucid by tomorrow morning; he'll be fine. I would use an ice bath, but it would only falter his healing process," he explained helplessly, brow wrinkled and glasses slipping to the end of his nose. "We need cooling cloths, too, lots of them, to reduce his internal heat."

Thor cradled his brother closer, cautious and gentler than Bruce had ever seen the boisterous god. When he spoke, it was so soft and gentle, Bruce startled in such a way that he took an unconscious step back, "I do not understand your words, but I have faith in your healing abilities, Doctor Banner."

Bruce only nodded, lips pursed, too stunned to do much else.

Much to Bruce's fascination, and Thor's chagrin, Loki's skin suddenly flushed a deep blue, designs of ancient runes blossoming over nearly every part of his flesh. And suddenly he was awake again, gasping for air and lashing out in desperation; he cried out Thor's name, voice hoarse and grasping.

His eyes had flown open, but Thor didn't bother shielding his eyes again. He simply held still, whispering words in his brother's ear as red eyes darted to and fro, panicked and disoriented.

"Thanos- Mother, she- she cannot- he must not touch her," He choked out, clinging to Thor as he had when they were younger. "Thor, he's coming, and Mother is- she is- please. . . I'm sorry."

Thor hushed him gently. "Mother is perfectly safe, Loki. You needn't worry; she is far from Thanos' reach," he lied, and, surprisingly, Loki calmed noticeably, apparently trusting Thor's word.

"What happened to him?" Bruce breathed, his scientific awe bleeding through.

Thor sighed sadly, face falling when Loki whimpered fearfully, "The Asgardian spell All-Father had cast upon him when he was first discovered fails when he falls ill. He was oft sickly in his youth, but less so recently. I had, in my younger years, mistaken this transformation as an occurrence which befell all Asgardians, although I never truly witnessed- nor experienced- such misfortune."

"Fascinating," Bruce replied, unable to repress the grin that practically split his face. When Thor peered at him strangely, he quickly added: "Sorry, sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me." Then, "He'll be alright, Thor. He simply needs a _lot_ of rest and a _lot_ of time to heal."

Thor went to respond, but then Loki was rambling, words jumbled and muffled when he turned to uncharacteristically bury his face in Thor's shirt (he'd changed after Loki had passed out before). Bruce could only just make out the words "Chitauri" and "Thanos" before Thor spoke again.

"You have my eternal gratitude for your services and aid, Doctor Banner, but this is no longer beyond my understanding. I can, as the Midgardians say, 'take it from here'."

Bruce nodded both in awkward sympathy and to return the pleasantries. He quickly reminded Thor to use the cooling cloths, making the god swear that he would, before studying his patient for another moment.

Then he walked out of the room silently, the small sounds of a broken god spilling out behind him.

XXX

The next morning, Bruce found the two estranged siblings fast asleep (he smiled when he saw the cloth resting triumphantly on Loki's forehead), strangely peaceful and unusually still. Bruce had always pegged Thor as the snoring type, but the guy wasn't making a sound, just as quiet his brother beside him.

Bruce cautiously checked Loki's temperature again (he didn't want the trickster to wake up suddenly and snap his wrist or something), finding it (thankfully) lower. He would be alright.

Bruce sighed wearily, making his way to the only intact kitchen left in the tower, where Tony had already begun a stare-down with the coffee-maker, daring it to deny him. Bruce merely grunted in greeting, still exhausted from the night before.

Tony glanced over his shoulder, looking just as exhausted, though Bruce knew it was more because of nightmares, rather than playing doctor at two thirty-three in the morning. But Tony asked anyway, in silent understanding, "Rough night?"

Bruce grinned a little, padding over to his fellow nerd and pouring two mugs of the precious liquid. He passed one to Tony, who took it gratefully, barely stopping himself from chugging it down in one go. Meanwhile, Bruce took a long sip, leaning against the counter beside Tony, watching the sky redden silently with the rising dawn.

"Something like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I basically just copy and pasted my story (since I cross-posted it a year ago on Fanfiction.net already), even though I actually hate doing that. I just didn't want to put myself through the inevitable torture of finding my mistakes and trying to fix them. . . again. Feedback is still much appreciated!


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